


Swap

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Bodyswap, Hurt/Comfort, I see a lot of these business Reigns stories so here's my contribution, M/M, Roman too, Wrestle AU: Aiga, ambreigns - Freeform, business!Reigns, everyone really - Freeform, feelings with porn, in which Dean gets nice things, mentions of EVIL Triple H, poor!Ambrose, so many feelings, soulmate!AU, thirst party saturday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 21:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10228250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: The males in the business empire that is the Reigns family have a bit of an odd secret... [Alternate Universe]Enjoy![x-posted to Tumblr]





	

It wasn’t often that Dean woke up _without_ any aches or pains. Without the sound of Sami’s snoring near-deafening him. Callihan had a habit of ending up in bed with Ambrose, seeing as how their mattresses were right next to each other on the floor. It was kind of like having a king-sized bed.

 

Dean reached out to give Sami’s shoulder a shove, the usual way he woke his roommate. When he came into contact with nothing but air though, Dean assumed Callihan was already up. Which meant _he_ must still be dreaming. There was no _way_ Callihan would be conscious in the morning before him.

 

Had his bed always been this comfortable?

 

When Dean finally opened his eyes though, things got weird quick. _Where the hell am I?!_ He flailed around in the blankets for a second, terrified at how clean and _white_ everything was, like a hospital room. He caught sight of his hands and barely kept from screaming because _that’s not my fucking skin, oh my god, is that a tattoo?!_ It _was_ , thick and thin lines of solid black tribal design weaving over tan skin that was definitely _not_ the bruised-up coloration Dean’s had been the night before.

 

There was a door across the room that hopefully led to a bathroom. Where there would be a mirror, maybe. Dean flipped the sheets back and flinched as he realized that _whoever_ he was, obviously he slept in the nude. Feeling weirdly like a pervert, Ambrose quickly wrapped the flat sheet around his newly-thick waist and shuffled to the door on shaky legs.

 

This was officially the strangest dream he’d had. Did he finally go after that Chinese food that had been festering in the neighbor's trash? The guy in the mirror was…well, he sure as shit was _not_ Dean fucking Ambrose.

 

This guy had brown eyes and _hair_ , lots of it, jet-black and all rumpled from sleeping. This guy had a tattoo that looked fucking _important_ instead of stupid or gaudy, like most of the musclebound morons with tribal tattoos. This guy had an _immaculate_ face, the ghost of a five o’clock shadow barely visible over his jawline and throat. Nice mouth. Dean snarled experimentally and was floored with how threatening he looked with well-kept facial hair and straight, white teeth.

 

Dean gingerly turned his head to one side, then the other. A scar creased the area over his right eyelid, the skin still pink and new from healing. It didn't hurt at all when Dean rubbed his fingers over it, but there was a strange ripple in the back of his mind like it _should_ have hurt. Ambrose pinched his arm. _Hard_. Pain made him jerk upright. So it _wasn’t_ a dream! Somehow, _somehow_ , this was real. Either that or he had the _mother_ of all concussions and he was hallucinating this shit.

 

He looked back up at…whoever the hell it was in the mirror, shrugging shoulders broader than his own. His disbelief suspended for a few more minutes, Dean was _curious_ , just who the heck _was_ this guy and why was he wearing his skin like a bad suit?

 

_He’s got to have a wallet around. Some form of ID._ Dean scuttled back to the bedroom, still holding the sheet up around his waist. A pair of pants and a crisp red button-up were folded on the chair beside the bed. The first warning sign for Ambrose was the fact that there was a passport and a plane ticket on the bedside table. _Fuck_. Reading the name on the ticket made him double-take because Jesus fucking Christ, _that_ was a name if he’d ever seen one! The name seemed...familiar for some reason. Dean narrowed his eyes at the ticket. He couldn't place it, but it _nagged_ at him.

 

“Roman Reigns.” Ambrose jumped at the sound of his suddenly-smooth, baritone voice, flushing as red as he could. It wasn’t really fair that this guy was the whole package! The hotel phone also on the bedside table gave him an idea. Dean dialed his own number, pinching the bridge of his nose nervously.

 

The gritty sound of Callihan’s voice greeted his ears. “ _He_ _ain’t_ _up_ _yet_ , _whoever_ _ya’ are_. _Don’t ya’ know what time it is?_ ”

 

“Could you possibly have him give me a call back? Tell him it’s uh. It’s Roman.” Dean knew there was a maybe one in seven chance that Callihan would even remember he’d called, but he could try.

 

Callihan snorted. “ _Like the guy from GTA? Sure thing, cousin Roman._ ” The line clicked dead.

 

_I am so screwed._ Dean hoped this guy didn’t have panic attacks, because if Roman was piloting _his_ body, he was in for one hell of a rude awakening.

 

…

 

Pain throbbed in what felt like every cell of his existence. Roman had been roused by a rough voice saying his name, but he wished he’d never woken up. _What happened last night? Did I get into a car accident?_ He wondered blearily, doing his damnedest to open his eyes. He remembered going to sleep, and then…nothing. Not even his usual dream of Blue-Eyed Guy, weirdly.

 

Upon finally managing to get his eyes open, Roman was more than confused. He was laying on a mattress on the floor of a dingy apartment. The rug touching his hand was sticky. The mattress felt paper thin, like every spring had given up years ago. Roman’s whole body _hurt_ , pounding like a fresh bruise.

 

There was a battered-looking young man smoking a cigarette on a mattress beside him, scrolling through an equally battered-looking phone. The guy, seemingly upon noticing that Roman was awake, cracked a grin and put his cigarette out. “Mornin’, sugartits. Some guy called for ya’ while y’ were snoozin’. Said his name was Roman.”

 

A flip phone plopped down onto the middle of Roman’s chest. His… _very_ pale, bruised chest. Roman swallowed hard, trying to be casual as he raised a hand. Every muscle in his arm screamed in protest but that was _not_ his hand, where the _hell_ was his tattoo--

 

_Oh_. He raised the hand higher, going to fumble with short hair and wincing because _ow those are fucking_ _ **stitches**_ _, what the fuck_. The guy beside him didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, thank fuck. Roman cautiously propped himself up on his elbows, flinching in pain. _Christ_. He was thin, lithe muscle, laced with faded scars across his torso and arms. Roman gathered from the bruising and small fresh wounds on his body that _whoever_ this guy was, he’d taken a hell of a beating.

 

“Wha’ happened?” His _voice_. It sounded shot to shit. _What if this guy is a druggie or something?!_

 

The man beside him huffed loudly, seeming indignant. “Man, Nick effin’ _Gage_ happened. That guy is a big ol’ bag a’ dicks.”

 

“I feel like I got hit by a train.” Roman cleared his throat once or twice. Nope, that’s apparently just how he sounded. _Okay_ _then_.

 

“Y’ handed his ass to him on a silver platter. Didn’t think you were gonna’ pull through for a little bit. Y’ just kinda’ got laid out on the ground an' I was like ‘shit, that’s the end of Dean Ambrose’. Figured you popped a stitch. But you fuckin’ tripped up Gage and pummeled his face in like a pro. Gave as good as y’ got.” The man’s expression softened a little bit. “The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit. At least she had the brains t’ scream. Good thing we were there, eh?”

 

Roman pressed his fingers to his temples, grunting. The guy beside him patted his back awkwardly after a minute. “You jus’ sit tight. Sami’s gotcha’. Give that guy a call back and I'll...I'll dig through an' see if there's still anythin' to eat.”

 

“What time is it?” _I missed my flight, didn’t I?_

 

“Half past noon or so?”

 

_Fuck_. “Thank you. I’m not…I don’t feel quite right.” Roman tried to explain, opening the flip phone with trembling hands and punching in his number. “I’ll call this guy back.”

 

Sami(?) seemed worried, but he left Roman alone and headed off through a side doorway. Roman ran a hand down his jaw, flinching when his fingers caught on yet another cut by his chin. Hopefully whoever this guy was, he was near his phone.

 

“ _Holy shit, okay. Okay. Are you…are ya’ in my fuckin’ body? Like how I’m in yours?_ ” It was so strange, hearing his own voice with such an odd cadence. Like he’d left himself a drunken recording. Ambrose sounded panicked. “ _Shit man, shit, is Callihan okay?_ ”

 

“Near as I can tell you took the worst of the beating. What do you even _do_ for a living, man, _Christ_.” Roman groaned in his newly-gained rasp.

 

“ _What the hell is goin'_ _ **on**_ _?_ ”

 

“Where do you live? I need you with me if I'm going to explain.”

 

“ _I'll ask the fuckin' questions here, buddy!_ ”

 

“And _I'm_ the one that knows what's going on, so I _suggest_ you do as I say!” The rasp gave his voice a new edge to it, and _not_ like the stern bark he employed when things got heated in the boardroom. He sounded fucking _dangerous_. Roman couldn't help the shudder than ran through his body, wincing as the bruises flared up.

 

Ambrose was silent on the other end. “ _Shit, it is a fuckin'_ _ **trip**_ _hearin' myself talk._ ” He said finally. “ _Is it weird for you too?_ ”

 

“Extremely so. Where do you live?”

 

“ _Cinci, Ohio. And you?_ ” There was a rustling sound and then Ambrose let out a squeak that was absolutely _ridiculous_ coming from Roman's baritone. “ _ **Christ**_ _, this place is tall!_ ”

 

“You're _in_ Cincinnati, you should know the area.”

 

“ _Tell me you don't_ _ **live**_ _in this place, please let this jus' be some dumbass hotel_.” Ambrose begged. “ _It's so nice in here, I'm losing it man_.”

 

“Focus!” Roman snapped. “What I need from you, first and foremost, is a ride. You have my credit cards, ID, passport, et cetera. So you need to grab the laptop.”

 

“ _Okay, okay, okay. I'm so sorry, man, I...shit, let me find the thing. Uh_ \--” There was a loud clatter that made Roman wince and pull the phone away from his ear. “ _I got it. I think. This ain't a laptop, man_.”

 

“Tablet, whatever the hell, it has a keyboard.” Reigns waved him off. “Flip it over, punch in my password, blah blah blah.”

 

“ _I don't know your password, now do I fancypants?_ ”

 

“Don't call me that. A-F-A-S-I-K-A.” Roman replied shortly. “All uppercase.”

 

“ _Bossy_ _, slow the hell down._ ”

 

“ _Don't_. Just do as you're told.”

 

“ _Fuckin'_ _ **bossy--**_ _Jesus Christ man, will you close ya' fuckin' porn windows! What the hell even...wait shit, what even is this stuff? Is this fuckin'..._ ”  
  


“Venture ideas from my father. Don't get distracted. Ignore that shit and get me a _goddamn_ Uber.” Roman demanded.

 

Ambrose didn't seem to be listening though. “ _What_ _ **is**_ _this stuff, Roman?_ ”

 

“I just _told_ you--”

 

“ _I know, but...shit. I'm sorry, I gotta'...Uber. Shit. I've never done one of these before, man, what do I--shit, I closed the thing. For fuck's sake, c'mon._ ” Ambrose protested, his voice pitching up high enough to make the other man snort. “ _Shit, hang on_.”

 

“I'm not going anywhere.” Roman said dryly. _What the hell kind of name is Ambrose, anyway?_

 

“ _I…oh for shit’s sake_.” Dean grumbled finally. “ _Fuck it, fuck this shit. I know how to call a cab, you’re getting a fuckin’ cab and liking it. God this shit is fuckin’ stupid._ ”

 

“That’s fine.” Roman could tell that arguing with the man was a pointless move. “Where do you keep your clothes? These jeans are kind of a wreck.”

 

“ _Where do I keep…buddy, those are my_ _ **nice**_ _jeans. I didn’t really expect t’ get into it with fuckin’ Gage last night. Don’t remember much, but if there isn’t any vomit on ‘em they’re better than my other pair_.”

 

“You only own _two_ pairs of pants?” Roman asked incredulously.

 

“ _Hey, fuck you! Don’t fuckin’ judge me man, I fight for my fuckin’ meals. This body doesn’t look like you’ve had so much as a fuckin’ bad day in y’ life!_ ”

 

“Christ, alright, I’ll wear these jeans. Didn’t realize that fucking _pants_ were a touchy subject.” Roman relented.

 

“ _I…shit, I’m sorry man. I dunno’ what to do, I know y’ got the worse end of this an’ I know I should be grateful because I woke up lookin’ like a fuckin’ god, but I--what if we’re stuck like this?_ ” Ambrose asked fearfully.

 

“Call me a cab, I’ll get washed up. When I get there I should be able to explain.” Roman gentled his tone a little. “I promise it won’t be too bad.”

 

“ _Okay man. Deep breaths. I’ll uh, I’ll see ya’ in a little bit I guess._ ”

 

Roman pulled himself to his feet, bracing his arm on the wall. “Sami?” He called tentatively, barely keeping his laugh in check when the other man’s head popped quickly out from behind the doorway to the kitchen. He’d obviously been eavesdropping.

 

“’Sup? Finish ya’ phone call?”

 

“Yeah. I have a…meeting I need to take care of. I…I guess I’m a little more rattled than I thought. Which way is the bathroom?”

 

Sami’s face wrinkled in concern. “Ambrose…shit, m’ sorry man. I know you ain’t one hundred percent, I was there at the doctor’s office, ‘member? I shoulda’ kept ya’ back instead of lettin’ ya' get into it with Gage’.” He pointed at the other doorway. “That a’ way, man. Call me if ya’ feel like ya’ gonna’ pass out, okay? Don’t want y’ fallin’ in the tub again.”

 

“Thank you.” Roman replied shakily. _Not one hundred percent?_ Things slowed to a halt when he finally reached the bathroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror over the sink.

 

_Oh no_.

 

It was _him_. Sandy blond hair, wide blue eyes which went even wider in disbelief. Blood crusted on the underside of his chin and bruises purpling the skin of his right cheek; he looked like _hell_ , but he wasn't unrecognizable by any means.

 

Fuck’s sake, _that_ was why Roman had been having so many dreams about this guy he’d never met ever since his dad had moved his operations to Cincinnati. Blue-Eyed Guy was his soulmate, who in turn was apparently _Ambrose_.

 

_Oh_ _ **no**_.

 

Roman felt like his legs were about to give out and he hastily grabbed the sink, ducking his head and breathing slowly for a second to fight back the urge to faint. _This guy who lives in an absolute_ _ **hole**_ _and owns two fucking pairs of pants_. _Seriously?_ The world was a wild place.

 

“ _Waking up in the body of your other half encourages you to understand them on a deeper level, Roman_.” Easy for his dad to say, he and Mom had both been business-inclined individuals! This…this was totally foreign and not only that, obviously _dangerous_. Sami mentioned him seeing a doctor. There were _stitches_ in his fucking head.

 

What the _hell_ had he been through, that he would still be fresh out of the hospital and just go fling himself at something else? “ _The chick he was tryin’ t’…well, she ran, thank shit._ ” Roman flinched as he realized what Sami had meant. Ambrose had gone after that Gage guy with _extreme_ prejudice, as well as total disregard for his own health. He felt stupidly proud for a second.

 

_You’re dumb, but the kind of dumb that I can live with_.

 

Roman splashed some water on his face, rinsing the dried blood off his chin. _Fuck’s sake. I’m going to have to email the client in Germany. Should probably get in touch with Dad first, though. Let him know it’s happened and that I'm okay._ Roman winced. The idea of telling his father that his soulmate was an unshaven guy who ‘fought for his meals’ was not a pleasant one.

 

…

 

Dean tapped his fingers on his knees nervously as he waited on the bed. He had finally gotten dressed after indulging himself in a brief full-body exploration in the shower because _really_ , this guy had no right being this good-looking. Roman _did_ have a few other fresh scars on his back, which made Dean curious.

 

He was so goddamn hungry, his stomach rumbling loud enough for him to hear. But Roman was supposed to be here soon and he _definitely_ wanted to know what the everloving hell was going on.

 

The knock that came still made him jump. Which was more than a little entertaining, due to the heavier weight of the body he was currently inhabiting. Roman was obviously not much for flinching.

 

Dean opened the door and…well shit, it was his skin alright. But this guy held his frame in such a rigid way it made Dean’s spine hurt. Shoulders back, tense and tight. He looked _uncomfortable_. “Fuckin'... _God_ that's strange.” Dean said without thinking as the other guy walked past him.

 

“You have no idea.” Roman grunted, flopping down on the bed in a way that completely contradicted the posture he'd possessed a second ago. “I'm absolutely _famished_.” He wiggled around for a second then sat up, fixing Dean with a quizzical look. “I figured you would have ordered something by now. Aren't you hungry?”

 

“Well yeah, but I-I ain't gonna' take ya' money an' shit, s'fuckin' rude.” Dean stammered. “I thought...I figured this was the safest place to be. I ain't left the room, man, I ain't a body snatcher.” _Also I have no idea_ _ **how**_ _man, c'mon_.

 

“You’ve been in the room this whole…damn, okay. I’ll tell you what to say and you can order us room service. I can’t, not with my voice being all…not Roman Reigns.” Roman grimaced.

 

“I-I’m really sorry, man. I…shit, ya’ got the raw end of this deal.” Dean apologized. “I jus’ got outta’ the hospital, I busted my head open when I uh. Fell. And then with that…that piece of _garbage_ , pawin’ at that chick, I fuckin’ flew right off the damn handle.”

 

“Sami said something about a man named Gage.”

 

“Nick effin’ Gage.” Dean snarled, clenching his fists. “Wasn’t him that put me in the chop shop, I got Brain Damage t’ thank for that shit. But Gage has a nasty habit of goin’ after girls that don’t want him. She was screamin’ loud enough t’ wake the fuckin’ dead, an’ I just…shit, I reacted.”

 

“Sounds like you did the right thing. It’s not like you knew that this was going to happen.” Roman said quietly.

 

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t do the right thing all that often man, usually ends up bitin’ me in the ass. Jus’…show me how to do the food, I’m fuckin’ dyin’ here.” He knew his change of subject was about as subtle as a flashing neon sign that said _I am changing the subject now!_ , so he was grateful when Roman reached for one of the pamphlets beside the room phone.

 

“Did the doctor give you any pain medication for this?” Roman asked after Dean had fumbled his way through the order, tapping his head and then wincing.

 

“I told her I didn’t want anythin’. I always say no. Callihan’s been clean for so long, I can’t fuckin’ put that kinda’ shit around him. He’s got a _real_ job now, man. I-I can’t.” Dean didn’t know why he was telling Roman all this. _Just say_ _ **no**_ _, you dumb shit!_ “If I'd known I was uh. Goin' to be renting the place out, so t' speak, I woulda' taken the meds.”

 

“No no, it's fine.”

 

Dean felt _awful_. Roman was obviously in pain. He was pale even for Ambrose's normally light skin color, laid out on his back on the bed. “You jus'...jus' stay put, okay? The doc told me to be kinda' still an' quiet.” Dean said finally.

 

Roman snorted, rolling onto his side. “You're not much for that, I gather.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I'm sure you're dying to know what the hell is going on.” Reigns began after a few minutes of awkward silence. “I just need food, feel like I'm inches from passing out. When was the last time you ate?”

 

Dean had to actually _think_ about it. “...Um. Before the hospital. My head was hurtin' too bad to eat.”

 

“I'm...wake me up when it gets here, okay?” Roman requested, his voice hoarse. “Room's a little--” He held his stomach and paused, swallowing loudly. “I-”

 

“Man, shh, stop. Jus' stop. I can wait on an explanation, okay? Believe me I know ya' in a mess of fuckin' hurt right now, so we'll get some food in your belly an' then if you're okay, you can explain.” Dean chastised him, more than worried at this point. How long _had_ it been since he'd eaten? It was normal to just pop a spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth for breakfast and see where the day took him.

 

What must it be like for this guy (who _obviously_ had an easier life than he did) to suddenly have to deal with stitches, a painfully empty stomach? An unfamiliar body full of fucked up aches?

 

Dean cautiously laid a large hand on Roman's head, stroking at his hair and being careful to avoid the stitches. It always worked for him when _he_ was in his body, hopefully it would still work now. It seemed to. Roman's eyes closed and he relaxed a little, snuggling down into the hotel bedspread. Dean was grateful for the other man's smooth baritone as he started humming quietly, some old song his mom used to listen to.

 

…

 

True to his word, Ambrose woke him when their food arrived. Roman's manners fell by the wayside as he dug into his meal of salad and cranberry-glazed chicken, years of rigorous lessons taught by his mother evaporating at the first bite.

 

His stomach began to protest barely five minutes in, though. Roman frowned, swallowing a mouthful and then glancing over at Ambrose. Dean looked lost, picking at the salad that came with his meal.

 

“How much do you normally eat?” Roman asked, watching curiously as Ambrose flinched.

 

“I…I mean, food’s hard t’ come by. I um. Your body seems super fuckin’ hungry, man.” Dean grimaced down at the salad. “Really wanna’ eat my burger but this green stuff is appealin’ to you.”

 

Roman couldn’t help his chuckle. Ambrose looked like a small child with a plate of peas in front of him. “Just eat, man. Don’t worry about what order food goes in.”

 

“We don’t eat much.” Ambrose mumbled like he hadn’t heard him, still staring down at the salad. “We waste even less. I…this is so much food, Reigns.”

 

“It’s okay.” Roman realized why his stomach already felt tight and stuffed. Ambrose’s reaction to the amount of food in front of him was all he needed to piece the puzzle together. “Take your time. I know your brain isn’t on-board with who it’s piloting, but I promise I usually eat that and way more. Just go easy. Don’t want you to make yourself sick.” Roman shrugged. “It’s okay if you can’t finish. I could probably stand to miss a couple meals.”

 

His joke was apparently unappreciated as Ambrose snapped his head up to glare at him. “This body is fuckin’ _ridiculous_ , I don’t think there’s a wasted ounce on ya’ so don’t give me that shit.” He grunted. “Built like a fuckin’ tree trunk.”

 

Roman laughed, a little surprised and not sure if Ambrose actually meant it as a compliment. “Why, thank you! I do my best. But my mom’s cooking has me soft around the middle. Not quite in peak condition at the moment.” His ability to defuse situations had always made him one of his father’s most valuable assets in the boardroom. Just because he sounded and looked different now didn’t mean he had lost his edge. This was proven accurate when Ambrose offered him a nervous smile and tucked back into the salad.

 

Once he'd gotten free of Hunter his mother had coddled him _mercilessly_. Roman was her baby, her last child, and the notion that he'd dealt with suffering seemed to tear her apart. She'd doted on him so much he might be a little... _tiny_ bit out of shape because of it. But it had only been three weeks ago.

 

...

 

Roman asked for his phone and went into the bathroom while Dean continued to slowly make his way through the food set in front of him. Ambrose could hear most of the conversation through the door, though.

 

“ _Dad, it’s me…I know I missed my plane. No I don’t have a cold. I…yeah. I know. I’ll email the client and apologize. I know, I’m sorry...you'll have to send Jimmy. I didn’t mean to scare you guys. After everything that happened…yeah._ ”

 

Dean’s brow furrowed as he chewed. _‘Everything that happened’?_

 

“ _I’m…I found him. Woke up across town. He had the brains to call me. He got me a cab so at least I’m here with him now. Yeah…I’m a little beat up though. Guess he just got out of the hospital...stitches in his head. Shit, you didn’t say I was on speaker, I didn’t want Mom worryi--hi Mom, sorry._ ”

 

Ambrose felt kind of like Gage had just punched him in the head again. _He’s got parents. He’s got a real job, an obviously_ _ **successful**_ _job._

 

“ _No no I’m okay. He’s a little tougher than I was…I’m sorry. I know it’s too soon to joke about it. Sorry Mom. Yeah, I remember how scared you were. I’m sorry._ ”

 

That still-pink scar over his eye began to throb. Dean flinched, startled. It wasn’t the pain that surprised him, but the abrupt presentation. He pressed his hand to the area, grunting when he attempted to rub the pain away and it just. Stayed the same. Like it was all in his head.

 

“ _Listen, I have to go. I love you. I still have to explain everything yet…I’ll do my best, Dad. Okay. Goodbye_.”

 

When Roman emerged from the bathroom Dean fixed him with a stern look. Which was rather difficult because Roman resembled a kicked puppy at that moment. Dean had never realized how _potent_ his big, blue eyes were, and he filed the information away for later use. “Alright bossy, spill it. What the hell is goin’ on here?” He asked, still gamely working on the damn salad.

 

“I’m sorry. You’ve been so patient.” Roman sighed heavily. “This is going to sound absolutely asinine.”

 

“More asinine than wakin’ up in someone else’s body?” Dean asked, grinning when Roman cracked a smile at that.

 

“Almost.” Reigns sat down on the bed beside him. “So my family is a little…strange. We uh. After we hit the age of twenty, when we get within a certain distance of the person we’re supposed to…to be with, you know, _be_ with, we um. We switch. Bodies. Temporarily. This is how it’s always been as far back as I remember. I…are you okay?”

 

Dean had his head down between his knees, feeling like he was going to pass out. _Be with_. There was no way. This guy looked _kind_ , looked strong and like a guy that he would _want_ to be his friend, his partner. But people like Dean Ambrose didn’t have that kind of luck. “This has to be some kinda’ mistake.” Ambrose finally said weakly. “You must be for Sami or somethin’, I-”

 

“There aren’t mistakes.” Roman interrupted him quietly. “I know I’m…I know it’s a lot. Believe me, I know.”

 

“Ya’ whole family does this stuff?”

 

“Men on my father's side, yeah. Nobody knows why, we just know that we do.” Roman was silent for a few seconds while Dean processed _that_.

 

“A-Are y’ even gay? Bi?” Ambrose croaked, his voice almost failing him.

 

Reigns shrugged. “Never gave it much thought. When you know that someone is predetermined for you, it kind of takes the fun out of dating.” He squinted at the other man, seeming suspicious. “Are _you?_ ”

 

The “ _no!_ ” was on the tip of Dean’s tongue, so used to crushing it down and being safe that it had become commonplace to deny it. “N…not sure.” He stammered instead.

 

Reigns’ smile was gentle. It looked weird on Dean’s face. “It’s obviously fine with me, man. You wouldn’t be my one otherwise. But I get it. I mean, I’ve never really had to worry about my preferences and all that, so I don’t get it from personal experience. I get that people are awful though.”

 

“Oh _fuck_.” Ambrose choked out. “You have no idea, man, I…fuckin’ shit.” He gestured wordlessly up and down the body he was currently in.

 

“I’m sorry.” Roman apologized. “It must have been awful to wake up as…well-”

 

“Hell no buddy, no fuckin’ way. You seen what my everythin' looks like. Trust me, this is a major fuckin’ improvement. Shit, if I looked like you all the time I woulda’ gotten a job modelin’ an’ told off every ugly, homophobic fucker around.” Dean said bitterly. “Instead, I been fuckin' fightin' for my food an' a place to stay, keepin' everythin' all tucked in. It ain't like any guy would go for me, man. M' not...not anyone's type, not really.” Dean knew he was rambling, but he couldn't seem to get his words to cooperate. “Not a guy t' bring home t' ya' parents, y'know.”

 

“Hey.” A hand landed on his arm. “Obviously you're at least _one_ person's type.” Roman pointed out.

 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, because ya' family is fuckin' cursed or some shit. I...I ain't a good person, man. You're _obviously_ a good person and--I mean, I'm not.”

 

“Well yeah, you would have invested in a third pair of pants if you were a good person.” Reigns whacked his shoulder, startling him. “Buck up, Ambrose. We're soulmates. That means that _somewhere_ , deep down in your heart, you have the capacity to love me.”

 

“I don't love _nobody_.” Dean replied sulkily.

 

“Not yet, obviously.”

 

…

 

Dean was _remarkably_ resistant for someone who had nothing. Roman woke up the next morning to an empty bed. His panic was short-lived as he rolled to his side and saw Ambrose ( _actually_ Ambrose, apparently they'd switched during the night) curled up on the floor with his jacket wrapped around him. Roman sighed, shifting to his back again. That lasted for exactly three seconds before he was struck with an uncomfortable twinge of pain across his shoulders. Where he'd been hurt.

 

Reigns flopped onto his stomach, grunting in irritation. The therapist had said he would heal fine, that most of it was in his head and in time it would fade.

 

“ _Traumatic injuries take their toll on you mentally and physically_.”

 

It hadn't really been all that long, he reminded himself. Three weeks wasn't that long. He would be alright. And hopefully, the incident had taught his father not to run his mouth about the pairbonds. Hunter could have done so much worse than what he did, that _fucker_. Roman hugged the pillow a little closer.

 

A hand touched his shoulder blade and he flinched. Dean made a low sound in his throat, like he was shushing him. “Easy. What happened here, man? I seen my fair share. Y' don't get these kinda' marks inna' fistfight.” He gathered Roman's hair up out of the way, exposing the nape of his neck. “These either. Somebody put ya' in a world of hurt.”

 

Roman shuddered. “It's nothing. Not...it's over now. It's alright.” He said weakly, trying to dismiss the situation.

 

Ambrose climbed up over his body and knelt on the bed beside him, stripping off his jacket and then, to Roman's confusion, his shirt as well. “This one.” Ambrose pressed fingers to the stitches on his head, not even wincing. “Skilsaw.” He reached back, tapping his shoulder and twisting a little so Roman could see. “Barbed wire.” Ambrose stared at Roman's back long enough to make the other man feel nervous, then moved closer and raised his arm. Two scars ran parallel to his ribs. “Dinner plate.” Ambrose grinned at that one, his tongue poking out between his teeth. Small lines up and down his arms and torso, “more barbed wire.”

 

“What are you doing around that _much_ barbed wire?” Roman finally asked.

 

“I fight.”

 

“ _In_ barbed wire?!”

 

“Gotta' keep guys in the cage somehow.” Ambrose shrugged. “Look, the point is, I been around. An' I only seen marks like yours from real sharp shit, like a dinner plate. Or a knife.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what happened? There ain't no slices on ya' tattoo. Shit was deliberate. But somebody still took a couple good fuckin' divots out, just enough t' scar. Jealous a' how pretty you are?”

 

Roman knew his laugh was on the wrong side of hysterical when Ambrose straightened up. “I told you it's nothing. Can you please just leave it alone?”

 

“ _Listen_. I been doin' thinkin' so don't start that shit with me, bossy. If this is all on the up an' up, ya' stuck with me for a while. Somethin', _somewhere_ out in that universe, likes me enough t' hook me up with your gorgeous ass.” Dean said plainly. “Sami always says that if ya' wanna' get to know someone, ask about their scars over an' over. Because eventually they get tired of lyin' an' they'll tell you the real story. So fuckin' spill it.”

 

“My dad doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, okay? He's a great businessman but he's too trusting. He...he told someone he shouldn't have about the soulmate thing. I got hurt. That's the gist of it.” Roman was all but strangling the pillow at this point.

 

“Recently, though.” Dean pressed him. “Skin's still all pink from healin', Reigns. This was...wait. Shit. _Reigns_. I'm a fuckin'--” He slapped himself on the forehead, grunting ' _ow! Fuck_ ' when his hand landed on his stitches. “Your ass was in the papers like a goddamn month ago. _That's_ what I knew ya' name from, shit I'm dumb.” He went still. “Y' got held hostage or somethin', right? That Helmsley guy?”

 

Roman bolted from the bed, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he started the shower.

 

“You think a _locked_ _door_ is gonna' stop me, man?” Ambrose blustered from the other side of the barrier. “Bossy, you ain't seen _shit_ yet.”

 

“Ambrose, I'm just-”

 

“Y' hidin' from me! I ain't fuckin' dumb, man. Somebody hurt you an' you ain't used to it like I am, y' think it's a bad thing or that you're fuckin' weak or somethin'.” Ambrose said loudly. “It ain't like that man. I got no idea what you been through, okay? I know that. But I...”

 

Roman climbed into the shower and Dean's words faded to a dull mumble beneath the spray. He breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head and just letting the water flow over him. His hair slowly untangled and Roman ran his fingers through it, staring down at the drain without really seeing it. He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the wall.

 

_This would be so much easier if that hadn't happened_.

 

“Toldja'.” Ambrose grunted, making Roman yelp as he jerked the shower curtain to one side so he could glare at him. Roman felt weirdly exposed, even though the other man had already seen every inch of him. “Ain't a door fuckin' made that I can't get through.”

 

“The door was _locked_ for a reason, Ambrose!”

 

“An' I _unlocked_ it for a reason.” Dean retorted. “Man, I can't fuckin' believe ya' ass. Hoppin' in the fuckin' shower and you ain't even invited me.” He whipped the curtain closed again. “M' comin' in anyways. Need it more n' you do. I showered ya' yesterday.”

 

“I don't _shower_ with-”

 

“Ya' do now, bossy, so get used to it.”

 

“What about your stitches?”

 

“Fuck 'em.”

 

“Dean--”

 

“Don't ya' gimme' that shit. We're soulmates, yeah? Y' better get used to me bein' a pain in ya' fuckin' ass.” Ambrose pointed out. “I need ya' help anyways, can't scrub my back. How much shampoo do y' normally use? I only used a little bit yesterday but I dunno' if it was enough. We usually jus' use a bar of soap, s'been ages since I had t' use liquid shampoo.”

 

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Roman grunted, irritated but also somewhat disarmed. No one usually gave him this much trouble about _anything_.

 

Dean climbed in behind him and Reigns half-turned, jumping and going red when Ambrose gave him a playful swat on the small of his back. “I _definitely_ got the better end of this bargain.” Dean grinned.

 

“ _Don't_ do that.” Roman ordered.

 

“Do what?” Dean's hands were back, framing Roman's hips. “Don't touch you? Don't fuckin' skim my fingers over ya' pretty fuckin' skin?” They moved up, roving curiously over Roman's tender shoulders.

 

“You're real free with the compliments, Ambrose. This how you get into everyone's pants?” Roman needled, trying to wiggle away from those greedy fingers. He had never been touched like that before and it was...strange. “How am I supposed to help you wash your back if you're behind me?”

 

“Fuck, ya' got a point. Alright.” Ambrose turned around reluctantly, backing underneath the spray of water and shaking his hair out of his eyes. “I ain't free with my compliments unless y' earn 'em, anyways.”

 

…

 

When Roman put his hands on his back, _something_ happened. Dean wasn't sure what. Large fingers traced carefully over the scars on his shoulder blade, making him shudder. Lips pressed to the base of his neck. Dean Ambrose wasn't scared of goddamn _anything_ , but this was making him reconsider getting into the shower. “That's not washin' my back, Reigns.” He finally said, a little breathlessly.

 

“Shut up.” Roman murmured. “If you're uncomfortable I'll stop.”

 

“I didn't say _that_.”

 

“So be _quiet_.”

 

“Can't, I'll explode.”

 

Roman made a frustrated noise, almost a growl, and Dean's whole body felt like someone had turned up the heat. Roman's hands left his back and Dean wasn't able to keep in a pitiful whimper. “Hey, _you're_ the one who wanted me to wash your back, don't get all bent out of shape because I need to actually get something to wash you with.” Roman chided.

 

“Want ya' to touch me.” Ambrose admitted. “Normally I don't let anyone touch me.”

 

“Too busy moving?”

 

“Too dangerous.”

 

Soapy hands slid over his shoulders, kneading the skin there and making Dean's head loll forward, chin resting on his chest. The sound he made was pornographic and he felt more than heard Roman's chuckle. “I guess you really _don't_ let anyone touch you, huh?”

 

“ _Mm_ , no.” Ambrose wasn't sure why he felt like he needed to tack on an _I promise_ at the end, swallowing the urge. Soulmate or not, he wasn't anyone's _property_. Never had been, never would be. However, he could definitely get used to only Roman touching him. The larger man was deceptively gentle, scrubbing his back with a care that was totally foreign.

 

Roman's forehead came to rest at the nape of his neck. “They threw a bag over my head when I was in the elevator.”

 

It took Dean a second to catch up to what the fuck Reigns was talking about, his brain busy drifting away in a state of half-arousal.

 

“Threw a bag over my head and knocked me out. Helmsley said that me _deciding_ his son was my soulmate would be best for business. I told him it didn't work that way.” Roman said quietly. “He didn't like that much at all.”

 

“What a fucker.” Dean grunted.

 

“I'm not going to say it was the absolute worst thing that could happen, you know? I understand that it would have been far less traumatizing to just agree to the terms, pretend Seth was my soulmate. Seth's not a bad guy at all, we've had some great conversations. His dad is just fucking crazy. But...” Roman inhaled shakily. “I wanted what my father has, what my uncles have. You should _see_ the way my parents look at each other, Ambrose. Like they're each other's sun, moon and fucking stars. I...I wanted that more than _anything_ in the world.” Dean wanted to scoff at how pathetic Roman sounded, but his heart was doing some weird shit in his chest. “So I declined Hunter's offer and accepted the consequences.”

 

“I mean, you got outta' there, so somethin' musta' gone tits-up.”

 

“Yeah.” Was all Roman said in reply, making Dean frown when he pulled back. Ambrose turned around, watching Reigns duck his head under the spray of the shower.

 

“Hey, I've kinda'...been through my fair share of shit, man. If uh. If there's anythin' I can do, any skulls y' need cracked, I'm your man.” _I'm your man_. Dean winced at his choice of words. _I could be, I guess_. It wasn't so bad if he admitted to to just himself.

 

The smile Roman gave him was small, but still there. “That's very kind of you.”

 

“Yeah, I'm offerin' outta' the goodness of my heart.” Dean jibed, making Roman laugh. “Not on account of the fact that I'm healin' an' I'm still itchin' t' fight. Some spoiled-brat business guy would probably suit my fists 'bout now.”

 

“And then sue your fists.” Roman said dryly. Dean snickered, which got Roman to smile again. Dean really, _really_ liked it when he smiled, he was quickly realizing. Which had the potential to be...bad.

 

_The real question here is, do I actually give a shit?_

 

Roman yawned, stretching his arms up over his head and Dean leaned in to bump their foreheads together. There was an odd jitter in Dean’s vision and then he was suddenly back in Roman’s body, finishing his stretch. “Ugh, really?” Roman complained. “Of course, I _just_ got clean.”

 

“Ah c’mon, s’not so bad.” Dean teased, stepping out of the shower and crossing his arms. “Now ya’ can slap my ass without me punchin’ ya’ in the face. Win win in my book, man.”

 

“I have _never_ \--“

 

“Better get used to it then, bossy. Because ya’ ass is _designed_ for that shit.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him and Roman huffed. Dean turned around to look in the mirror, running a thumb over the grown-in stubble on his jaw. “Should probably wait until you’re back in the drivers seat as far as shavin’ goes. Ya’ look like this fuzz means somethin’ to ya’. Might be kinda’ funny t’ shave it all off though.”

 

Abruptly, Roman’s hand full-on _walloped_ Dean’s ass cheek. Ambrose grunted, startled. Not really by the slap, but by the way the body he was in reacted to it. “Shit, Christ-“ He sputtered. “Damn Reigns, you’re really into that shit huh?”

 

“I’ll _murder_ you if you shave my...wait, really into w--oh my _God_.” Roman put his hands over his face. Dean had never seen himself blush, so the visual of pink flooding his shoulders was a new one. “No, no no no I’ve never-”

 

“Uh oh, someone’s got a dirty little kink.” Dean smirked, rubbing his buttock and flinching as his cock twitched in interest. “Damn, ya’ gave me the fuckin’ _heater_ on that pitch. Easy on th’ goods. _You’re_ the one who’s gonna’ have t’ deal with this shit later.”

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

“Bullshit.” Dean cut him off. “Don’t ya’ start lyin’ t’ me now, bossy. Now. I’m gonna’ raid your suitcase an’ borrow some clothes for ya’. Seein’ as my jeans are still all fucked up.”

 

…

 

The notion that he, _he_ , Roman Reigns, might be interested (the way his cock looked indicated a little bit more than _interested_ ) in play that even _bordered_ on rough was strange. Roman was immensely grateful that Dean didn’t make an attempt to touch his dick at all, the other man simply ignoring his cock until it softened. Roman didn’t know _why_ it would bother him, but it did all the same. At least let him _be_ in his  own body if it was going to do embarrassing things like make his cock hard over a swat to the ass!

 

Roman was lost in thought, pulling on a tank top that was far too large for Dean's athletic frame while Ambrose tried to dry all his hair with a towel, the other man growling every couple of seconds that “ _this is fuckin’ stupid, jus’ put the shit in a ponytail or somethin‘_.”

 

“That’s what you get for-” Roman paused mid-sentence as there was a loud series of knocks on the door to the room. “What? Who the heck could that be?” He finished tying his shoes and got to his feet, perplexed.

 

“Don’t look at me, man.” Ambrose grunted. Then, he shot up, dropping the towel and grabbing Roman’s hand. “ _Wait_. Genius, what if it’s someone else comin’ t’ nab ya’?” Roman hadn’t even _thought_ of that, his eyes going wide. Dean pushed him back into the bathroom and made a shushing motion. “Stay put an’ be _quiet_.” He whispered. “If they’re here for ya’, I ain’t rollin’ over without a fight. Sorry for any bruises on ya’ body, I'll try not t' wreck the paint.”

 

Roman watched with his heart in his throat as Dean crept to the door, looked through the peephole and then…

 

He shrugged and started undoing the deadbolt and chain. Ambrose opened the door carefully, seeming confused. “Can I-”

 

“Sweetheart, you’re alright!”

 

Roman cringed. _Mom?!_

 

“Roman, thank God.” His father was the first one through the door, wrapping Dean in a furious hug. “Where the hell is he? Did he hurt you? I know this is just another one of Hunter’s tricks!”

 

“I-I uh, y-you guys have th' wrong--” Ambrose stammered, attempting to peel Roman's mom and dad off him. “Roman? A little help here?” He called, his voice cracking. “I thought ya’ told them--”

 

Sika Reigns flung open the bathroom door and grabbed Roman by the front of his shirt, hauling him into the bedroom. “ _How much did Hunter give you, you piece of garbage?!_ ” He roared.

 

“You stay away from my baby!” His mother was in tears, clinging to Dean like her life depended in it. It was strangely gratifying to see the lengths his parents would go to defend him. But not _right now_ for fuck’s sake!

 

“Wait, wait guys hang on a sec.” Dean sounded a little shaken. “I…let us explain. I promise, I promise it ain’t a trick, please just let us explain.” He pleaded, “This is all my fault, don’t haul off on ya’ kid over me, shit. He’s been through enough crap wakin’ up in a body that looks like mine.”

 

“Roman, why-”

 

“I _ain’t_ Roman, alright? I’m jus’ hangin’ out in his body. Roman’s camped in my shitshow. This…this is a lot for me t’ wrap my head aroun’ but he’s done good at explainin’.” He pointed at Roman, grimacing. “That’s Roman, ma’am. Ya’ might want to tell ya’ husband t’ ease off. Wait until I’m back in my body an’ I promise y’ can kick the crap outta’ me then.”

 

“I just might.” Sika growled. “Roman, is this true?”

 

“Papa, _please_ -“ Roman hadn’t called his father Papa in _years_. He felt some of the fight ease out of Sika. “It’s me, I swear it’s me, ask me anything.” He begged, terrified that his father might do something like take Dean away and leave him stranded here.

 

“When you were _very_ young, what toy did your brother Rosey throw away?” Sika asked, his eyes narrowed.

 

“Big Dog, it was Big Dog, he was a red and black checkered puppy. I was six.” Roman replied, his voice trembling. “Papa, I-”

 

“I’m not done.” Sika cut him off. “What did Hunter say to you right before I broke his damn jaw?”

 

“H-He said--”

 

“Sika, no, no.” Patricia sounded sad. “Don’t, ask him something else.”

 

“I need to know that this is _Roman_ , 'Tricia.” Sika said firmly.

 

Roman didn’t want to repeat what Hunter had sneered at him. _Especially_ not in front of Dean, who was just standing there awkwardly. “He said…he said, ‘Sika is so damn lucky, having you for a son. Strong, loyal, obedient. Too bad you’re so fucking stubborn, though. It’ll take time to retrain you, but I know you’ll make a great son-in-law.’ A-And then you came through the door and Hunter spat on me before you broke his jaw.” Roman swallowed hard. “I swear it’s me, Dad, Papa, _please_.”

 

Sika hauled him in for a hug, cupping the back of his head. “I’m so sorry. I had to be sure. Are you alright, Roman? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked worriedly, hand running over the short sandy-blond hair.

 

Roman closed his eyes and tucked his face down into his father’s shoulder, fighting back tears. “M’okay.” He mumbled.

 

...

 

Ambrose cleared his throat after a minute. “So uh. Hi there Mr. and Mrs. Reigns, my name is Dean Ambrose an’ apparently your son is stuck with me for um. The foreseeable future.” He wiggled his fingers in an odd waving motion. “How’s it goin’.

 

“I’m incredibly sorry about all this, dear.” Mrs. Reigns seemed the more level-headed of the two. “You have to understand, we only recently had some…problems with this.”

 

“I completely get it. Only a couple weeks out from some jerk tryin’ t’ hurt ya’ kid he supposedly finds his soulmate? I’d be suspicious too ma’am.” Dean figured it wouldn’t hurt to agree. “Promise ya’ though, it’s the real deal. I wouldn’t wish my busted up body on anybody an’ he’s handled it like a champ.” He said quietly.

 

“So _you're_ his soulmate, huh?” Mr. Reigns mused, holding Roman at arms length so he could give him a visual once-over. “Look like you've been through the wringer, kid!”

 

“I'm _aware_.” Ambrose bit out. “Life ain't been kind t' me, sir.”

 

“Dad _please_ , don't be rude. Christ.” Roman groaned. “We've been trying to get to know each other better.”

 

“I'll say, you put him in your clothes.” Mrs. Reigns pointed out, obviously teasing her son. Roman blushed, tugging at the hem of the tank top. “Have you tried switching back yet?”

 

“We were straightened out this mornin' but somethin' happened.” Dean tried to explain. “Not really sure, it was kinda' like I slid sideways an' then I was just. Roman again. Like cracking ya' back.”

 

“Get over here.” Mr. Reigns ordered. “Foreheads together.”

 

Dean obliged, a little scared of what might happen should he decide to not cooperate. Roman looked just as confused as he felt when their foreheads touched.

 

“Eyes closed, hands on each other's shoulders.”

 

“I don't see how this is gonna'-” Dean's voice changed mid-sentence and blue eyes flew open, locking with brown. “Damn.”

 

“Shit.” Roman seemed like he was breathless.

 

“ _That's_ better.” Mr. Reigns said approvingly. “That's my son, see the set of his shoulders? _Our_ Roman.” He sounded ridiculously proud and Ambrose felt a sharp spike of envy for a second.

 

But Roman was suddenly kissing him like his parents weren't in the room, body crushing against his own in a hungry embrace that left Dean absolutely _reeling_. Reigns finally pulled away, stammering out an apology and then Ambrose grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him back just as hard.

 

“Sika, you shouldn't rush them!” Mrs. Reigns protested.

 

“Don't blame me! This is _all_ them, 'Tricia.” Mr. Reigns chuckled fondly. “Remember when we met again?”

 

“How could I forget? You showed up to my all-important meeting with my hair an absolute mess, wearing a _pantsuit_ of all things! I was mortified.”

 

“It was amazing.”

 

Mrs. Reigns rolled her eyes. “Boys, we're having dinner at six. We expect you to make an appearance.”

 

“Mmhm.” Roman mumbled into Dean's mouth, giving his parents a thumbs-up. Dean had no idea where the urgency in his stomach had come from, just that it was _there_ and burning red hot. The door to the room closing sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears and Roman jerked back. “Shit, I uh...shit. I don't know why I did that.” He gasped. “Oh my God that's so embarrassing, I really hope they're not upset with me.”

 

“Ya' dad sounded like he was gonna' bust with pride, so I don't think so.” Dean grinned, tangling his hand back into Roman's hair. “Now, 'bout that _mouth_ of yours, bossy.”

 

“I haven't really done much, I'm--”

 

“Bullshit, y' kissed th' air right out of my fuckin' lungs.” Dean was pretty sure his smirk was permanently etched onto his face. “Not a lot of people got what it takes t' shut me up, Reigns.” He slid his other hand into Roman's back pocket, making Roman snap immediately to attention.

 

“Dean, I've never...um.”

 

“I ain't rushin' ya'. Don't worry. Jus' wanted to touch.” Ambrose murmured, palming over Roman's ass through his slacks. “I know this is scary. We don't have t' do anythin' you're not ready for.”

 

“I mean. I...it doesn't feel bad. I'm just...I haven't with another guy, is all.” Reigns said awkwardly. “What if I hurt you or something?”

 

“I _dare_ ya' to try an' hurt me.” Ambrose challenged, laughing a second later at the horrified expression on Roman's face. “M' kiddin', teasin'. I don't mind a little rough play in the bedroom but when _you're_ ready, okay?”

 

“What do you mean by _rough?_ ”

 

Dean shrugged. “Whatever y' want, I guess. M' up for just about anythin'. I denied this part of me for most of my life, man. I'll take what I can get.”

 

“No no, I mean...” Roman covered his face with his hands, seeming flustered. “Dean you _fight_ for a living, I seriously don't know what rough is to you.”

 

“Oh! Shit, s'good point. I uh. I mean, obviously I can take a little more punishment than the average Joe?”

 

Roman frowned. “But do you _want_ that? Or are you tired of it?” Dean went still, his brow furrowing. Roman, as if he sensed his weakness, pressed on. “Would you rather something...I don't know, a little _kinder_ when we...”

 

“I dunno'.” Ambrose said finally. “Are you willin' to do somethin' like that for me?”

 

“Absolutely.” Roman's tone was firm and it choked Dean up a little bit if he was being honest. “You're my _o se tasi ma e na_. I will cherish you. Like my father did my mother, my uncles and cousins their significant others. I'll do my best to give you anything you need.”

 

Yep, Dean was definitely going to cry.

 

Roman crooned quietly in his throat, pressing their mouths together again. It was gentle this time, like he was afraid of breaking Ambrose. Dean grabbed Roman's upper arms, stupidly worried that his legs were going to give out. “I...” His words got all twisted up in his mouth. There were so many things he wanted, so many things he  _needed_ .

 

“Shh, it's alright.” Roman murmured, “It's alright. You're allowed to want other stuff besides what you've already had.”

 

Dean hadn't been waiting for  _permission_ or anything like that ( _I'm not anyone's property_ ), but it seemed to help just the same. Roman rubbed over the front of his pants and Ambrose was surprised to find out that he was already hard. When the hell had  _that_ happened? 

 

Roman made a noise into his mouth like he was just as startled, pulling back. “Oh.” Reigns sounded breathless. “Can I...?”

 

“You can do whatever th' fuck ya' want just keep fuckin' _touchin_ ' me.” Dean said all in a rush. “Already told ya' I don't let people touch me but for fuck's sake _please_ keep touchin' me, I don't even care if y' bossy.”

 

Roman unzipped the overlarge slacks Dean was wearing. They fit Reigns just fine but Dean was practically swimming in them, the waistband just barely hanging onto his narrow hips. “God you're thin.” Roman gulped immediately after speaking. “Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to. Uh. That was supposed to stay in my head.” He said hesitantly. “I'm...I'm going to take really good care of you, okay? No more being hungry. Not while you're with me.”

 

“What about Sami?” Dean challenged, suddenly realizing why he felt so guilty about this good shit happening to him. “I can't just--”

 

“Shh, easy. He took care of you for me. I'll get him whatever the hell he wants.” Roman promised, making a sad noise when Dean rubbed his eyes. “Are you...no no, don't cry, it's okay.”

 

“S'not fair.” Dean sniffled. “Y' jus' come in here an' say ya' gonna' fix everythin' like it's no big deal. I wanna' believe ya' an' I know it's gonna' kick my ass when ya' leave because you'll figure out there's some fuckin' mistake, like I ain't your one at all an' it _hurts_.” He wasn't prone to being overly emotional; it felt _foreign_ to be this close to tears, words spilling out of him. “I wanna' be yours like I ain't never wanted anythin' else before an' I'm jus'...I'm so fuckin' scared that I'm gonna' wake up in that alley with Gage standin' over me again an' this is all jus' some fucked up dream. Good shit doesn't happen to me, man.”

 

“It's going to from now on.” Roman said softly. “ _Loʻu loto ma aiga_.”

 

“I ain't got no fuckin' clue what th' shit ya' sayin'.” Dean replied, flustered and trying to distract himself from the way Roman was looking at him. Roman slowly knelt, hands framing Ambrose's hips. “Reigns, I--”

 

“Let me do this for you. After all, _you're_ the one who has to suffer through dinner with my parents.” Roman pointed out, getting a watery snicker from Ambrose. “Sorry about them, by the way.”

 

“They seem nice. Like they love ya' a lot.” Dean wasn't trying to sound fucking _wistful_ , but there it was. “Y' had a stuffed puppy, huh?”

 

Roman laughed, propping his forehead up on Dean's bare thigh. “Yeah. Big Dog. Rosey hid him in the trash because I was being a little shit. He wasn't going to actually throw him away or anything, but the garbage guy came while he was at school. Mom was  _so_ pissed when Rosey finally 'fessed up because I made her life absolute  _hell_ the whole day.”

 

“You, causin' trouble? I don't buy it.” Dean had to bite back a smile at the way Roman nonchalantly referred to a _stuffed animal_ as a 'he'.

 

“You'd be surprised.”

 

Dean's fingers wound into Roman's hair again. “Surprise me, Reigns.” The groan that left his mouth at the first slow stroke Roman gave his dick was unintentional.

 

Roman looked up at him, seeming startled. “Dean...?”

 

“Ain't had anyone touch me in a while.” Dean quickly rasped. “Please.” Roman's smile made Dean's stomach drop out. “Wait, wanna'...wanna' touch ya'. Fuck, I need to. While y'...get up over me, I'm gonna' suck your dick while you let me fuck ya' fist.”

 

“Wh-- _what?_ ” Roman sputtered, his reaction incredibly endearing. 

 

Dean pulled him to his feet, kissing him hungrily while he fought with Roman's slacks. “On the bed, get on th'  _fuckin'_ bed. Need y' like this.” He wasn't sure if he was demanding or begging. Roman was obviously all for it though, quickly working on the buttons of his shirt while Dean pulled his large tank top off over his head. “Fuck, look at you,  _look_ at you. Fuckin' gorgeous.” Ambrose breathed. “Wakin' up in ya' body...I wasn't sure for a second if I'd fuckin' died an' I was reborn or some shit, y' so fuckin' pretty.” He said honestly.

 

“Dean, Christ.” Roman kissed him again, pushing him to lay back on the bed. His tongue pressed into Dean's mouth, licking his own inquisitively and Dean was fucking _gone_ , groaning and shuddering while Roman's body pinned him down.

 

As Roman got into position over him all Dean could think was  _I do not fucking deserve this one bit but thank God that I'm getting it anyway_ , kissing the head of Roman's cock and surprising a sound out of the other man.

 

“A-Are you going to be okay? Not going to crush you, right?” Roman asked worriedly. Dean wasn't sure why the hell he'd kept his slacks on but nodded anyway. He silently appreciated the way the dark gray fabric stretched over Roman's thighs and framed his cock, which looked painfully hard at this point. When Dean took Roman into his mouth he felt Reigns' forehead impact his hip, the other man's breathing suddenly harsh. “ _Fuck_.” Roman's hips twitched and Ambrose moved a hand down, grasping his own cock loosely. “Shit, shit, sorry, you're just...” Roman swatted his hand away and Dean made a noise of protest around Roman's dick.

 

Ambrose slid his hands into the back pockets of Roman's slacks, urging Roman to fuck his throat. This was something he was  _good_ at, dammit, Reigns should be taking advantage of his skills. But Roman seemed more focused on  _him_ , stroking his cock  _just_ fucking right. Dean thought he was going to come out of his skin when Roman's mouth closed tentatively around the head of his cock. He knew Roman didn't really know what the fuck he was doing but  _shit_ that was hard to remember with that fucking tongue on him.

 

“ _Oh_ , dammit-” He had to pull off for breath, Roman moaning in a way that sounded almost like a complaint when he did. “I know, m'sorry, gotta'...s'been a while.” Dean gasped, loving the way Roman's cock looked as it hung over him and twitched in his hand. Reigns' hips bucked ever so slightly. “Y' ever throat-fucked someone, Reigns?” Dean asked, swallowing hard when Roman shook his head. “Well that explains _that_ shit, I guess.”

 

The larger man hadn't moved his forehead from Dean's thigh in a while, his breath washing over Ambrose's skin in fast pants. “I'm really close.” Roman confessed. “Can I try sucking you off?”

 

“Oh yeah, lemme' think about that _obviously goddamn_.” Dean slammed his fist down on the bed when Roman enthusiastically slurped up the side of his cock and then swallowed him down. “ _Fuck_ , Reigns, shit, _fuck_ you gotta' be lyin'-” He choked out, “There's no way you ain't _f-fuckin'_ done this before, I-- _shit_.” 

 

Dean wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that Roman was  _smiling_ while he dragged all these embarrassing sounds from him. Fingers cradling his balls, tongue laving over the head of his cock and all the while those damn  _thick_ thighs slowly rocking his cock down into Dean's mouth. “Is that good?” Roman gasped finally, a strand of spit stretching from his lower lip to the head of Dean's dick. Ambrose was pretty sure that he'd never been more turned on in his  _life_ . 

 

“' _Is that good_ ', he fuckin' asks. Like y' can't feel me fuckin' shakin' underneath ya' about t' go off in ya' fuckin' mouth.” Dean rasped, his hips jerking up. “ _Yes_ it's fuckin' _good_ , Roman, fuck, fuck's sake-”

 

“Are you going to come?”

 

“Y' can't fuckin' tease me like that.” Dean protested. “I-if y' _ask_ me, it's--”

 

“Because I'm going to come, and--” Roman swallowed hard, Dean watching in fascination as his stomach shuddered with the motion of his breath. “Wanted you to come. O-on my face.” Roman finished hurriedly.

 

Dean's teeth punctured his lower lip. “What?  _Why?_ ”

 

Roman shrugged, flushing. “Just...someone asked me to do it to them once and they looked so...fucked out when I did, I wanted to know how it felt. If you think it's weird--”

 

“Hell no, _hell_ no. Get ya' hair outta' the way, I will fuckin' oblige the _shit_ outta' ya'.” Dean growled. “Roll onto ya' back, get ya' hair outta' the way. I will come on ya' fuckin' face whenever th' _hell_ you want.”

 

Roman climbed off and laid on his back, laughing breathlessly when Dean tapped his cock down onto his cheek. “Should I still...?”

 

“I think I've got it from here. Damn, ya' fuckin' good lookin'.” Dean groaned. “Touch y'self for me, huh?” He bit his lip as Roman dragged his fingers down his torso, the larger man finally taking his cock in hand and hissing out a breath. Dean stroked his dick slowly, wanting to prolong the pretty sight in front of him. “That's right, make y'self feel good for me.”

 

“Christ, I...” Roman's voice cracked and he swallowed, seeming nervous. “I dreamed about you every night, you know. Since Dad moved me here after what happened.”

 

“Didja'? What'd I do in ya' dreams?” Dean asked curiously.

 

“Kissed me, mostly.”

 

“' _Mostly_ ', huh?” Dean's grin felt predatory but he couldn't be fucked to fix it. “Don't suppose I fucked ya', did I? Maybe I came on ya' face? Woke ya' up all fuckin' hot n' bothered in the night?”

 

“Dean, Jesus--” Roman's expression was all Dean needed for confirmation. Roman tilted his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat as his shoulders dropped with a quivering sigh. The picture was just...too much for Dean. The visuals, the fact that this was _his_ now, Roman was _his_ \--

 

“Close y' fuckin' eyes m'gonna' come.” Dean said through gritted teeth, groaning loudly when Roman wrapped his fingers around Dean's and stroked him in tandem, urging him on. “God, fuck, _fuck_ \--” Ambrose grunted, his whole body shivering as he came. The sight of Roman covered in his come shouldn't have been such a raging turn-on for him but then Roman snarled and painted his own abdomen with his release and yeah, yep, that sound he made was fucking _hot_. 

 

Dean collapsed on his back beside Roman, both of them breathing too hard to speak. Roman finally started laughing. “Was that too weird? I feel like it might have been too weird.” He asked.

 

“ _Fuck_ no, I'll let ya' ass know when shit gets too weird.” Dean replied. “That was...shit, that was fuckin' _nice_. Anyone ever told ya' you're a natural?”

 

Roman laughed harder at that, fumbling in the sheets for the tank top so he could wipe his face and stomach off. “Christ, I've never done anything like that before. That was  _wild_ . You're a bad influence.”

 

“Maybe next time you'll get ya' pants all the way off.” Dean teased, getting Roman to flush. “We'll work on it.”

 

“How about we order something God awful for us and we can try again? Dinner is...kind of a ways away.” Reigns looked hopeful but wary, like he wasn't sure that Dean would want literally _anything_ and everything he was willing to share.

 

Ambrose rolled on top of him, kissing him hungrily. Roman responded after a second, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and rolling his hips up into Ambrose's smoothly. Neither of them were hard but it still felt so fucking  _good_ that Dean sighed into Roman's mouth. “That's an excellen' fuckin' plan, Reigns.” He whispered. 

 

Roman tilted Dean's head down, pressing his lips carefully to the skin a safe distance from the stitches before offering the other man a grateful smile. “Glad you think so.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Translation Note: 'O se tasi ma e na': One and only.  
> 'Loʻu loto ma aiga': My heart and home/family.)


End file.
